?"-  7 
"=.  LL'KS 


CRACK  O'  DAWN 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •   BOSTON  •   CHICAGO   •  DALLAS 
ATLANTA    •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •   BOMBAY    •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA.  LTD. 

TORONTO 


CRACK  O'  DAWN 


BY 

FANNIE  STEARNS  DAVIS 
(MRS.  A.  McK.  GIFFORD) 

AUTHOR  OF  "  MYSELF  AND  I  " 


Nrtn 
THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

I9IS 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1913,  1914,  by  the  At 
lantic  Monthly  Company,  Harper  & 
Brothers,  The  Century  Company, 
The  Yale  Review,  Harriet  Monroe 
for  Poetry,  A  Magazine  of  Verse, 
The  Curtis  Publishing  Company, 
and  Perry  Mason  Company. 

COPYRIGHT,  1915 

BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  February,  1915. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CRACK  O'  DAWN   .  3 

"I  HAVE  LOOKED  INTO  ALL  MEN'S  HEARTS" 

PROFITS        .  •        9 

THE  POET  REBUKES  His  FLATTERERS     .  .11 

"As  I  DRANK  TEA  TO-DAY"  -       *3 

To  A  COWARD      .  J7 

THE  RECLUSE       .  ...      20 

RAIN  IN  THE  NIGHT     . 

RESTLESSNESS       • ,      •                                  •  •       24 

GHOSTS 

THE  YEAR  AFTER         ...                 •  .27 

THOSE  I  LOVE      .  •       29 

ESCAPE 

"WHAT  IF  I  GROW  OLD  AND  GRAY"     . 

WIND  . 

SORROW'S  SHADOW  •      37 

"I  WENT  DOWN  INTO  MY  HEART"  •      39 

SORROW  IN  SPRING        .  4* 

WINGS          .  ...      44 

THE  UNBORN        .  -49 

THE  MOTHER        .                                  •  -5° 

THE  CHILDREN'S  PEDDLER S2 

EVENING  SONG     .  • 

THE  NEW  HOUSE          .                 .        •        •  • 

To  YOUTH— IN  SECRET  JOY  ....  .60 


330409 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FIRE  FANTASY      .                 .                 .        .        .  .63 

AN  OLD  SONG       .        .        .        .        ...  .      68 

HOME  .         .         .         ;         .         .        .        .        .  70 

WILD  WEATHER 71 

DAWN-JOY .  -      73 

"Now  I  WILL  SADDLE  THE  SWIFT  BROWN  MARE  "  .      76 

To  THE  NORTH -79 

UP  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN          .        .     '    .        .        .  .84 

"THE  STARS  Go  BY"  .         .        ...        .  .86 

STORM  DANCE       .        . 89 

THE  BLACK  WITCH        .        .        ...        .  91 

RIDE .  .94 

ROMANCE ',  -97 

O  MY  LOVE  LEONORE  .        .        .        .        .        .  .99 

THE  CHANGELING          .        .        .        ...  .     101 

HOOFS  IN  THE  DARK     .        .        ...        .  .     104 

"WHAT  I  DESIRE  TO  SAY  "    .        .        »        .        .  .    107 


Thanks  are  extended  to  the  publishers  of  The  Atlantic 
Monthly,  The  Century,  Harper's  Magazine,  Poetry  (A 
Magazine  of  Verse),  The  Yale  Review,  The  Country  ^Gen- 
tleman,  and  The  Youth's  Companion,  for  their  permission 
to  reprint  in  this  volume  poems  copyrighted  by  them 
in  1913,  1914- 


CRACK  0'  DAWN 


CRACK  O'  DAWN 

CRACK  o'  dawn !    Red  sun  looks  in 
Through  my  curtains  white  and  thin. 
Sun  looks  in,  and  I  look  out 
At  the  sweet  world  spread  about. 
Silver  dew  on  lilac-tree, 
Meadow-larks  desiring  me, 
Hills  that  sleep  along  the  dawn, 
Sense  of  wise  stars  just  withdrawn, 
(Serious  stars  that  hide  away 
In  the  hot  blue  halls  of  Day.) 

No  one  sees  me  as  I  run 
Clear  to  meet  the  clear-eyed  sun. 
No  one  hears  me  laugh  and  sing 
Many  a  dawn-swept  dancing  thing. 

3 


CRACK  O'  DAWN 

No  one  knows  my  prayers  are  made 
Out  of  dew-pearl  and  leaf-shade, 
Out  of  lark-song  and  sky- breath; 
Simplest  challengers  of  death. 

Crack  o'  dawn.    The  City  still 

Sleeps  behind  my  daisy-hill; 

Very  dull,  with  shutters  locked. 

Though  the  red  sun  knocked  and  knocked 

They  would  never  ask  him  in. 

But  the  bull-mouthed  whistles'  din 

Breaks  their  heavy  dreams  apart; 

And  they  groan,  and  stretch,  and  start 

Grumbling  up. 

ODawn!    Ami 

Guilty  of  their  sweat  and  sigh? 
Am  I  cold  and  hard,  to  run 
Free  of  foot  to  meet  the  sun, 
While  the  bull-mouthed  whistles  roar, 
And  the  drab-faced  people  pour 


CRACK  O'  DAWN 

Herded  down  the  blank  gray  street,— 
Leaden  eyes  and  leaden  feet? 

Could  I  help  them  if  I  too 
Lost  my  sunrise  leaves  and  dew? 
If  I  made  my  own  dreams  gray 
With  the  dust  of  day-to-day, 
And  forgot  the  stars,  and  fell 
In  that  hideous  barren  Hell, 
Where,  I  think,  my  soul  would  be 
Hard  for  God  Himself  to  see? 

Once  I  was  a  pagan,  wild 
With  the  wonder  of  a  child. 
Once  I  thought  the  City  too 
Might  go  free  of  dawns  and  dew. 
Oh,  I  thought  them  stupid  folk, 
With  their  crazy  wheels  and  smoke, 
Swarming  babies,  huddling  halls, 
Brazen  laughter,  sodden  brawls, 


CRACK  O'  DAWN 

And  their  blind  souls, — blind,  while  I 
Played  the  god  with  wind  and  sky. 

Crack  o'  dawn!    Red  sun,  I  wake 
Singing  for  your  splendid  sake; 
Silent,  for  the  City  still 
Drugged  behind  my  daisy-hill. 

Oh,  but  were  I  pagan  yet! 
God!  could  I  forget!  forget! 


"I  HAVE  LOOKED  INTO  ALL  MEN'S 
HEARTS" 

I  HAVE  looked  into  all  men's  hearts. 
Like  houses  at  night  unshuttered  they  stand, 
And  I  walk  in  the  street,  in  the  dark,  and  on  either 
hand 

There  are  hollow  houses,  men's  hearts. 

They  think  that  the  curtains  are  drawn. 
Yet  I  see  their  shadows  suddenly  kneel 
To  pray,  or  laughing  and  reckless  as  drunkards  reel 

Into  dead  sleep  till  dawn. 

And  I  see  an  immortal  child 
With  its  quaint  high  dreams  and  wondering  eyes 
Sleeping  beneath  the  hard  worn  body  that  lies 

Like  a  mummy-case  defiled. 
7 


8    "  I  HAVE  LOOKED  INTO  ALL  MEN'S  HEARTS  " 

And  I  hear  an  immortal  cry 
Of  splendor  strain  through  the  sodden  words, 
Like  a  flight  of  brave-winged  heaven-desirous  birds 

From  a  swamp  where  poisons  lie. 

— I  have  looked  into  all  men's  hearts. 
Oh,  secret  terrible  houses  of  beauty  and  pain! 
And  I  cannot  be  gay,  but  I  cannot  be  bitter  again, 

Since  I  looked  into  all  men's  hearts. 


PROFITS 

YES,  stars  were  with  me  formerly. 

(I  also  knew  the  wind  and  sea; 

And  hill- tops  had  my  feet  by  heart. 

Their  shagged  heights  would  sting  and  start 

When  I  came  leaping  on  their  backs. 

I  knew  the  earth's  queer  crooked  cracks, 

Where  hidden  waters  weave  a  low 

And  druid  chant  of  joy  and  woe.) 

But  stars  were  with  me  most  of  all. 
I  heard  them  flame  and  break  and  fall. 
Their  excellent  array,  their  free 
Encounter  with  Eternity, 
I  learned.    And  it  was  good  to  know 
That  where  God  walked,  I  too  might  go. 

9 


10  PROFITS 

Now,  all  these  things  are  past.    For  I 
Grow  very  old  and  glad  to  die. 
What  did  they  profit  me,  say  you, 
These  distant  bloodless  things  I  knew? 

Profit?    What  profit  hath  the  sea 
Of  her  deep- throated  threnody? 
What  profit  hath  the  sun,  who  stands 
Staring  on  Space  with  idle  hands? 
And  what  should  God  Himself  acquire 
From  all  the  aeons'  blood  and  fire? 

My  profit  is  as  theirs :  to  be 

Made  proof  against  mortality: 

To  know  that  I  have  companied 

With  all  that  shines  and  lives,  amid 

So  much  the  years  sift  through  their  hands, 

Most  mortal,  windy,  worthless  sands. 

This  day  I  have  great  peace.    With  me 
Shall  stars  abide  eternally! 


THE  POET  REBUKES  HIS  FLATTERERS 

WHY  will  you  trouble  me  with  praise? 

Give  me  no  praise.    These  songs  I  found 
Flashing  like  wings  above  my  ways, 

Or  blown  like  leaves  along  the  ground. 

I  caught  a  feather;  crushed  a  leaf; 

And  you  applaud  me.    Let  me  be. 
You  had  no  praise  for  that  sore  grief 

Whereof  I  got  the  mastery. 

You  had  no  praise  the  time  I  fled 

Down  rustling  corridors  of  fear: 
You  left  me  all  uncomforted, 

With  only  God  to  cry  "Draw  near!" 

Look!  at  my  side  this  moment  stands 
My  friend,  who  suffers  and  is  proud. 


12     THE  POET  REBUKES  HIS  FLATTERERS 

He  chokes  his  Life  between  his  hands, 
Lest,  hurt  and  crazed,  it  cry  too  loud. 

He  makes  me  hateful  of  my  fame: 

Hot-faced  and  humble:  for  he  too 
Speaks  softly,  radiantly  my  name, 

And  loves  me  till  it  stabs  me  through. 

Have  you  no  little  word  for  him? 

Can  you  not  see  how  strong  he  is? 
Oh,  what  is  all  my  music  dim 

To  such  great  reeling  victories? 

Leave  off  your  praise.    Smile  not  on  me. 

What  say  you?    Are  my  songs  so  sweet? 
They  are  but  wind-blown  wizardry. 

Look  there!    His  blood-stained  hands  and  feet! 


"AS  I  DRANK  TEA  TO-DAY" 

As  I  drank  tea  to-day 
With  a  dozen  women,  chattering,  gay, 
In  delicate  drooping  gowns,  in  jewels  like  dew, 
Laughing,   light-voiced, — I   thought  of  a  certain 

hunger  I  knew 

Hid  in  the  heart  of  one,  the  merriest  laugher  there. 
I  saw  three  little  dull  threads  in  the  lazy  dusk  of 

her  hair; 
Three  little   keen   wrinkles   about   her  beautiful 

shining  eyes. 
And  I  wished  I  were  not  so  wise. 

I  wished  that  I  did  not  know 
Those  symbols  of  pain: — that  low 
Under  her  pride  and  sweet  warm-worded  address 
She  was  shaken  with  loneliness; 

13 


14  "  AS  I  DRANK  TEA  TO-DAY  "  *• 

That  the  one  great  dream  she  had  dared  to  dream 

was  a  lie, 
And  half  of  her  Life  went  wearying,  "Let  me  die/' 

I  wished  that  I  could  not  hear 

That  murmur  of  mortal  fear 
Through  the  clink  of  silver  and  subtle  whisper  of 

lace. 
I  dared  not  look  in  her  face. — 

Then  I  thought,  (while  I  laughed  aloud 

With  my  cup  at  poise,)  "Ah,  the  proud 

Masques  that  we  wear!    We  too, 

All  of  us,  dancing  through 

Some  queer  little  pantomime  each  day, — 

Jewelled  and  gloved,  deft-spoken  and  gay, — 

Ah,  but  God  only  hears 

All  of  the  follies  and  fears, 
Meanness  and  courage,  breathed  out  and  in 
Over  these  tea-cups'  delicate  din." 


„  "  AS  I  DRANK  TEA  TO-DAY  "  15 

Then  I  looked  in  that  woman's  face 

Over  its  pearls  and  roses  and  lace, 
And  I  knew  that  I  need  not  fear  to  see 
Those    little    dull    threads,    those    wrinkles 

three, 

Or  hear  the  cry  of  her  life.    I  knew 
We  were  all  of  us  crying  too: 
Crying  with  wonder  or  weariness, 
Too  much  love  or  too  little.    Yes, 
It  was  Life,  just  Life  that  we  hid  away 
Under  our  gossip  and  glad  array. 
And  that  woman's  laughter  and  pride, 
Shielding  her  heart,  half-crucified, 
Seemed  bravely  done, — although 
I  thought,  "Must  Life  hurt,  hurt  so?" 

Till  as  I  took  her  hand, 

Saying  good-bye,  the  smooth  words  planned 
Choked  in  my  throat.  She  stood  there  dumb, 
Folded  my  fingers  and  pressed  them  numb, 


J  6  "  AS  I  DRANK  TEA  TO-DAY  " 

Knowing  I  knew. 

Ah,  yes!    I  knew! 

All  of  us  seeking,  hungering,  hiding  too, 
In  delicate  drooping  gowns,  and  jewels  like  stars 
and  dew! 

So  we  all  went  away: 

A  dozen  women,  chattering,  gay. — 


TO  A  COWARD 

You  have  no  right  to  spoil  the  sun, 

Blacken  the  blue  and  blur  the  stars. 

Is  your  fool's-face  the  only  one 

That  ever  pressed  Life's  prison-bars, 

And  found  escape  too  bitter-hard? 

And  cursed  the  great  cold  Gaoler,  God? 

Then,  crooked-lipped,  pain-smirched  and  marred, 

Shrieked  to  the  peaceful  folk  who  trod 

The  free  street  still,— "But  look  at  me! 

I  am  so  hurt.    God  hates  me  so. 

I  know  that  all  Eternity 

Is  foul  and  false  and  bleared.    I  know!" 

How  do  you  know?    What  right  have  you 
To  show  your  shameful  coward's  face? 

17 


i8  TO  A  COWARD 

Have  you  alone  run  ruined  through 
Hell's  wide  waste-hillocked  torture-place? 
Have  you  a  blood-sealed  pact  with  Pain?— 
A  secret  tryst  with  Agony? 
Has  no  one  else  dared  death,  to  gain 
The  great  brave  soul,  that  wrests  the  key 

Of  Freedom  from  God's  Hand? 

^jt' 
Then  swift 

To  flee,  beholds  the  door  flung  wide; 
And  feels  the  Gaoler's  fingers  lift 
His  face,  and  push  his  locks  aside, 
While  through  his  soul's  last  desperate 

dusk 

The  great  slow  Eyes  stare  deep,  stare  deep; 
And  Shame  blows  from  him,  like  a  husk 
Of  Horror;  and  clean  glories  leap 
From  those  great  Eyes  to  his,  set  free 
From  all  the  foul  and  false  and  marred:- 
— "Thou!    Who  hast  earned  Eternity! 
Thou!    With  My  Secret  Keys  to  guard!" 


TO  A  COWARD 

You!    What  know  you  of  God,  and  Life? 
There  festering  to  your  prison-bars. 
Be  proud!    When  you  have  won  that  strife 
You  will  not  dare  to  curse  the  stars! 


THE  RECLUSE 

I  AM  too  much  in  love  with  loneliness. 

To-night,  with  secret  joy  I  shut  my  door, — 

(This  is  a  shameful  thing  that  I  confess,) 

But  I  desired  no  footstep  on  my  floor, 

No  friend  to  share  my  hearth-fire,  and  the  still 

Warm  hours,  before  the  midnight  chime  swings 

clear, 

And  the  small  owlet  hoots  across  the  hill, 
And  I  join  hands  with  Sleep,  cool-fingered,  dear. 

I  had  no  need  of  talk  or  song;  no  need 

Of  love.    Love  would  have  hurt  and  frightened  me. 

The  wind  went  by;  I  heard  the  lilac-seed 

Dry- tipped,  beat  on  the  window  stubbornly. 

And  I  sat  glad  and  silent  and  complete. 

I  had  no  need  in  all  the  world.    My  heart 


THE  RECLUSE  21 

Purred  like  the  great  gray  cat.    It  seemed  so  sweet 
To  shut  the  door,  on  Life, — and  sit  apart. 

Life!  this  is  shameful!    Call  me  out  before 
I  die  of  loving  loneliness  too  well. 
Send  hordes  of  beggars  battering  my  door, 
To  keep  me  clear  of  happiness,  and  hell. 
Send  me  great  love  to  hurt  me.    Send  me  fear 
And  anger,  God's  fierce  messengers, — for  I 
Am  swooning,  swooning,  in  my  fire-light  here. 
Life!  stab  me!  make  me  fight  before  I  die! 


RAIN  IN  THE  NIGHT 

OUT  in  the  night  the  great  good  rain 
Makes  sweet  the  earth,  makes  strong  the 

trees. 

— Let  me  be  done  myself  with  pain 
And  hot  unhappy  mysteries. 

Let  me  not  lie  awake  to-night 
With  dreams  devouring  all  the  gloom: 
Wide  mouths  of  hungry  restless  light 
Gleaming  and  gaping  round  my  room. 

Dreams,  from  my  souPs  and  body's  stark 
And  hollow  red-hot  caves  of  fear. 
(Oh,  never  a  dream  of  leaves,  a  lark, 
A  dawn-wind,  sea- tides  salt  and  clear!) 


RAIN  IN  THE  NIGHT  23 

— Out  in  the  night  the  good  rain  goes. 
Kind  as  my  Mother  used  to  be. — 
Oh,  if  in  Heaven  my  Mother  knows, 
God,  send  her  back  like  rain  to  me! 


RESTLESSNESS 

LIFE  with  his  chin  on  my  shoulder 

Whispers  into  my  ear. 
His  voice  is  like  winds,  and  cities, 

And  seas,  and  sorrow,  and  fear. 

It  troubles  and  wearies  me  always. 

Nothing  he  says  comes  clear. 
— Sharp  chin  on  my  aching  shoulder! 

Strange  murmurous  voice  in  my  ear! 


GHOSTS 

I  AM  almost  afraid  of  the  wind  out  there. 

The  dead  leaves  skip  on  the  porches  bare, 

The  windows  clatter  and  whine.    I  sit 

Here  in  the  quiet  house,  low-lit, 

With  the  clock  that  ticks  and  the  books  that  stand, 

Wise  and  silent,  on  every  hand. 

I  am  almost  afraid,  though  I  know  the  night 
Lets  no  ghosts  walk  in  the  warm  lamp-light. 
Yet  ghosts  there  are;  and  they  drift  and  blow 
Out  in  the  wind  and  the  scattering  snow. — 
When  I  open  the  windows  and  go  to  bed 
Will  the  ghosts  come  in  and  stand  at  my  head? 

Last  night  I  dreamed  they  came  back  again. 
I  heard  them  talking;  I  saw  them  plain. 

25 


26  GHOSTS 

They  hugged  me  and  held  me  and  loved  me;  spoke 
Of  happy  doings  and  friendly  folk. 
They  seemed  to  have  journeyed  a  week  away, 
But  now  they  were  ready  and  glad  to  stay. 

But  oh,  if  they  came  on  the  wind  to-night 
Could  I  bear  their  faces,  their  garments  white 
Blown  in  the  dark  round  my  lonely  bed? 
Oh,  could  I  forgive  them  for  being  dead? 
I  am  almost  afraid  of  the  wind.    My  shame! 
That  I  would  not  be  glad  if  my  dear  ones  came! 


THE  YEAR  AFTER 

UP  and  down  my  Garden  the  roses  are  a-revel; 
Up  and  down  my  Garden  gleam  golden  butterflies. 
June-scent  to  the  tree-tops  floods  the  white  air 

level, 
And  June-sun  to  the  rose-roots  thrusts  fingers  warm 

and  wise. 

O  my  red,  red  roses!  my  larkspurs  and  my  lilies! 
(Yellow  lilies  leaning  in  a  tangle  and  a  swoon,) 
0,  have  you  forgot  me?  for  now  the  Garden  still  is, 
And  no  one  treads  the  warm  path  I  knew  by  night 
and  noon. 

Red-rose-petals  blowing,  and  rain-bleached  in  the 
grasses,— 

Red-rose-petals  slipping,  slipping  to  be  dead, — 

27 


28  THE  YEAR  AFTER 

Only  wind  may  touch  you:  he  hurts  you  as  he 

passes: 
0,  do  you  remember  who  kissed  you  once  instead? 

— Up  and  down  my  Garden  my  Spirit  runs  a- tip  toe, 

Stroking  all  the  roses,  chasing  butterflies. 

But  she  may  not  gather  one  blighted  bud.    To  slip 

so 
Empty  from  her  Garden,  blurs  her  shining  eyes. 

Spirit ! — Spirit ! — Spirit ! — 

Home,  come  home  and  leave  them : 
Leave  the  petals  blowing  like  little  weary  flames. 
Lest  your  ghostly  presence,  your  pulsing  shadow 

grieve  them: — 
— Yet  'tis  you,  you  only,  who  know  their  dear  lost 


names! 


THOSE  I  LOVE 

I  COULD  be  glad  and  gay  to-night 

If  those  I  love  were  gay. 
But  they  have  shadows  o'er  their  sight 

I  cannot  sweep  away. 

My  body  laughs  and  leaps  and  sings. 

I  could  go  proud  and  sweet. 
But  those  I  love  have  broken  wings. 

Dance  not!    Dance  not,  my  feet! 

I  could  have  faith  in  God  enough 

To  keep  me  joyfully. 
But  those  I  love  must  take  the  rough 

Dark  way  of  doubt.    Ah  me, — 

29 


30  THOSE  I  LOVE 

Would  God  that  they  by  trusting  too 
Gave  me  my  right  to  Faith! 

But  how  dare  I  drink  heaven-dew 
While  those  I  love  drink  death? 


ESCAPE 

Now  since  I  cannot  make  it  out: 
Why  people  love  and  lose  and  die; 

Why  there  is  agony  and  doubt, 
And  so  much  cause  to  brood  and  cry; 

Oh,  since  I  cannot  understand 

God's  will  for  all  the  world,  and  me,— 
I  will  go  take  the  wind's  cold  hand, 

And  dance  a  little,  foolishly. 

The  hills  are  green  and  simple  folk; 

The  wind  is  quick  with  comrade-calls; 
White  wayside  apple-trees,  and  smoke 

Of  woodfires,  and  bright  waterfalls, — 
31 


32  ESCAPE 

They  never  bid  me  understand. 

They  never  say,  "You,  too,  must  die.: 
I  will  go  take  the  wind's  cold  hand. 

God  knows,  I  cannot  always  cry! 


"WHAT  IF  I  GROW  OLD  AND  GRAY " 

WHAT  if  I  grow  old  and  gray 
Who  was  once  so  gallant-gay? 

When  my  goodliness  shall  pass 
As  the  flower  of  the  grass; 
When  there  shall  be  none  to  claim 
Friendship  in  my  youth's  dear  name; 
When  my  soul  that  leapt  like  fire 
Limps,  too  dreary  for  desire; 
When  the  door  of  Silence  stands 
Open  to  my  fumbling  hands; — 
Though  I  almost  make  you  cry, 
(You,  still  young  and  passing  by,) 
Leave  me  proud  and  high  and  free. 
Never  dare  to  pity  me! 

33 


34      "  WHAT  IF  I  GROW  OLD  AND  GRAY  " 

For  I  make  my  journeying 
Far  from  every  sorry  thing. 
I  have  lived  too  glad  to  fear 
Any  hurt  or  horror  here; 
And  I  shall  be  glad  once  more 
When  the  Silence  swings  its  door, 
And  I  enter  in,  and  see. — 
Oh,  you  must  not  pity  me! 


WIND 

THE  Wind  bows  down  the  poplar-trees, 
The  Wind  bows  down  the  crested  seas; 
And  he  has  bowed  the  heart  of  me 
Under  his  hand  of  memory. 

0  heavy-handed  Wind,  who  goes 
Hurting  the  petals  of  the  rose; 
Who  leaves  the  grasses  on  the  hill 
Broken  and  pallid,  spent  and  still! 

0  heavy-handed  Wind,  who  brings 
To  me  all  echoing  ancient  things: 
Echoing  sorrow  and  defeat, 
Crying  like  mourners,  hard  to  meet! 

35 


WIND 


The  Wind  bows  down  the  poplar-trees 
And  all  the  ocean's  argosies; 
But  deeper  bends  the  heart  of  me 
Under  his  hand  of  memory. 


SORROW'S  SHADOW 

SOME  days,  when  I  am  dressed  in  shimmer-stuff, 
With  yellow  roses  at  my  breast  and  hair; 

When  just  the  air  and  sunlight  seem  enough 
To  make  the  whole  world  delicately  rare; 

When  people  love  me,  and  I  them,  and  all 

My  heart  is  like  a  hill-brook's  lilting  call: 

Then,  if  I  pass  her,  in  her  dim  black  dress, 
With  heavy  eye-lids  darkened  by  old  tears, 

I  feel  a  sudden  clutch  of  loneliness; 
I  stare  down  vistas  of  unsparkling  years, 

And  there  behold  myself,  clad  close  in  black, 

With  tired  brows,  thin  hands,  and  aching  back. 

O  Sorrow's  Shadow!  let  me  be  awhile! 
Wreck  not  my  happy  yellow  roses:  set 

37 


3§  SORROW'S  SHADOW 

No  watch  upon  my  sudden  cry  and  smile. 

Why  should  I  not  forget— ah,  half  forget!— 
That  Sorrow's  Self  will  meet  me  some  strange  day, 
And  take  my  hand,  nor  let  me  dance  away? 


"I  WENT  DOWN  INTO  MY  HEART ' 

I  WENT  down  into  my  heart.  It  was  hollow  and 
cold  and  deep. 

There  were  statues  standing  apart  in  a  folded  icicle- 
sleep. 

There  was  beauty  beneath  their  veils,  wild  beauty 
and  terror  too; 

But  they  were  asleep,  asleep,  and  knew  not  my 
passing  through. 

I  went  down  into  my  heart,  to  the  altar  the  God 

built  there. 
The  lamp  burned  low  to  its  death;  the  altar  was 

dusty  and  bare; 
And  the  face  of  the  God  was  blurred,  and  the  gold 

of  his  fringes  dead. 
I  went  thither  to  kneel  and  pray,  but  my  prayers 

were  slow  to  be  said. 

39 


40       "  I  WENT  DOWN  INTO  MY  HEART  " 

I  came  up  out  of  my  heart  to  the  traffic  and  toil 

of  the  day. 
I  had  been  but  the  wink  of  an  eye,  the  tick  of  a 

clock,  away. 
But  I  knew  that  I  should  not  dare  go  back  to  my 

heart  once  more 
Till  the  statues  waked  with  a  cry  and  the  God 

gleamed  out  from  the  door! 


SORROW  IN  SPRING 

SORROW  knocked  at  my  door, 

Sorrow  sat  by  my  bed. 

I  could  not  sing  any  more. 
The  bird  at  the  green  lane's  head 

Sings,  and  the  Spring  returns. 

Primroses  revel  in  dew. 

Fire  from  the  twilight  burns, 
Soft  stars,  trembling  and  new. 

Children  shout  in  the  street; 
Pedlars  gesture  and  chaff; 
Linden-branches  repeat 
Wise-wives'  stories,  and  laugh. 
River  runs  to  the  sea; 
Boats  swim  brave  on  his  breast. 
41 


42  SORROW  IN  SPRING 

(There  is  one  boat  whose  free 
Swan-wings  surpass  the  rest.) 

Would  I  might  sail  away! — 
Lock  my  door  in  the  town; 
Lock  in  the  dark  old  day 

When  Sorrow  came  in  her  gown 
Heavy  and  soiled  with  ash : 
Knocked,  and  entered,  and  sate. 
My  candles  failed  in  a  flash. 

The  bread  was  dust  that  I  ate. 

— Oh,  to  sing  as  of  old! 

Sing,  with  the  dance  of  the  day, — 

Sing,  with  the  waters  cold 

And  the  quick  winds  running  away! 
— Never,  never,  again. — 
But  I  will  be  proud,  not  cry. 
Sunshine,  children,  the  strain 

Of  the  harp-man  loitering  by, 


SORROW  IN  SPRING  43 

I  will  not  hurt  you  with  tears. 
Look!  I  will  laugh! — 

And  lo, 

Sorrow, — Sorrow, — she  hears! 
She  smiles!  and  she  rises  to  go! 


WINGS 

TAKE  down  your  golden  wings  now  from  their  hook 

behind  the  door. 
The  wind  comes  calling  from  the  west,  and  you 

must  fly  once  more. 
Oh,  mine  are  grown  too  old  to  fly,  my  crooked 

wings  and  gray, 
But  yours  are  glad  with  ruffled  gold,  and  you  must 

fly  away. 

I  found  you  far  across  the  moors  beneath  a  thorny- 
tree: 

The  eyes  of  you  were  wide  as  stars  above  a  breath 
less  sea: 

But  frail  you  were  and  faint  you  were,  and  nowise 
gay  and  glad 

Save  for  the  leaping  golden  wings  your  slender 
shoulders  had. 

44 


WINGS  45 

And  suddenly  I  led  you  home,  and  cherished  you. 

I  wrought 
Green  robes  like  April  willow-leaves.     I  coursed 

the  hills  and  sought 
Strange  jewel-seeds  and  pearly  flow'rs  to  weave 

about  your  hair. 
Beneath  my  hand  you  bloomed  and  grew,  fair  as  a 

flame  is  fair. 

I  hung  your  wings  behind  the  door  lest  you  should 

fly  away: 
(They  being  all  of  bubbling  gold,  but  mine,— ah, 

withered  gray!) 
I  hung  your  wings  behind  the  door,  for  secretly  I 

knew 
Your  golden  wings,  your  wayward  wings,   they 

bode  their  time  for  you. 

And  now,  the  cottage  by  the  wood,  its  doorways 

shall  be  dark. 
You  were  its  sunshine  and  its  spring;  its  south 

wind  and  its  lark. 


46  WINGS 

Your  bed  beneath  the  window-sill  must  lie  un- 

warmed,  unpressed; 
The  briar-rose  may  bear  no  more  her  star-flowers 

for  your  breast. 

The  dragon-flies  across  the  pools  may  dart  and 
drowse  all  day, 

Sapphire  and  stinging  emerald,  with  slit  wings 
silver-gray; 

The  rabbit  up  the  glen  may  leap,  the  rare  thrush 
ring  his  chime:— 

But  you  will  never  come  again  for  noon  or  twilight- 
time. 

— Take  down  your  golden  wings  now  from  their 

hook  behind  the  door, 
And  tie  them  tight  against  your  back,  the  bright 

thongs  crossed  before. 
The  bright  thongs  strained  across  your  breast  to 

keep  them  straight  and  true, 
The  golden  wings,  the  wandering  wings,  that  woke 

my  love  for  you. 


WINGS  47 

The  west  wind  calls,  "Come  forth!  Come  forth!" 

Look  once  within  my  eyes. 
Tell  me,  "  I  know  you  loved  me  well,  but  now  the 

whole  world  cries!" 
Tell  me,  "You  have  been  kind  to  me,  but  ah,  I 

cannot  stay. 
A  million  miles  of  sea  and  sun,  they  whisper  me 

away." 

That  is  enough.    I  ask  no  more.    I  grow  too  gray 

to  fly. 
I  can  but  walk  the  sheltered  woods  to  watch  the 

year  go  by. 
The  little  cottage,  dawn  and  dusk,  shall  keep  me 

warm.    And  you — 
That  I  must  give  you  back  your  wings  too  well, 

too  well  I  knew! 

O  Face  of  Youth  that  lit  my  dusk!  0  Hand  too 

light  to  hold! 
How  should  you  wait?    The  west  wind  cries,  who 

cried  to  me  of  old. 


48  WINGS 

Lean  down.    I  tie  the  broad  bright  thongs  to  keep 

them  true  and  straight: 
Your  golden  wings,  your  windy  wings,  that  leave 

me  desolate. 


THE  UNBORN 

WHEN  out  of  the  dark  I  come  to  you, 
A  faint  new  spirit,  blank  and  blind, — 
A  bird  too  weak  to  search  the  blue, — 
A  ship  too  frail  to  take  the  wind, — 

When  out  of  the  dark  I  come  to  you,— 
(You  having  called  me  from  that  Place 
Where  I  might  sleep  the  aeons  through, 
Lapped  in  the  drowsy  dark  of  Space,) — 

Then  must  you  claim  me  for  your  own, 
Who  seem  no  more  your  own  than  light, 
Across  an  upland  pasture  blown 
In  the  great  solitudes  of  night? 

Body  and  soul,  you  live  in  me. 
Yet  strange  am  I,  and  wild,  and  new. 
Oh,  can  your  loving  leave  me  free, 
When  out  of  the  dark  I  come  to  you? — 

49 


THE  MOTHER 

AND  now,  they  did  not  need  her  any  more. 
She  heard  below  the  shudder  of  the  door, 
The  quick  feet  on  the  path,  and  she  was  fain 
Only  to  snatch  her  sewing  up  again, 
And  sew,  and  sew,  seam  over  feverish  seam, 
Hurrying  in  the  dumb  haze  of  a  dream, 
Thrusting  away  the  moment  when  her  hand 
Should  force  her  idleness  to  understand 
That  they  were  gone,  all  gone,  and  at  the  door 
They  would  not  call  and  claim  her  any  more. 

Young  as  the  morning,  they  were  gone  away, 
Whose  kisses  kept  her  hair  from  turning  gray, 
Whose  laughter  kept  her  ready.    Wherefore  now 
Should  not  those  wrinkles  deepen  in  her  brow, 
And  she  shut  up  her  heart,  and  learn  to  be   ' 
Of  her  bright  self  a  queer  dull  travesty? 

so 


THE  MOTHER  51 

And  yet,  the  smile  they  left  her  must  not  die; 
For  crying  now,  might  she  not  always  cry? 
"0  God!"  she  whispered,  sewing,  "keep  me!    Oh, 
Thou  only,  over  all  the  world,  must  know!" 


THE  CHILDREN'S  PEDDLER 

UP  above  the  village  roofs  the  white  road  climbs 

away; 
There  among  its  maple  trees  the  church  stands  cool 

and  gray, 
And  the  Dead  Folk  all  around  have  houses  still  and 

sweet. — 
But  I — I   go    a-peddling   on    the   dusty    village 

street. 

Uphill,  downhill,  rain  and  sunny  weather: 
Right  foot,  left  foot,  (faith,  it's  hard  on  leather) ! 
Dolls  and  balls  and  kites  and  chains,  knives  and 

knick-knacks — oh, 
I'm  the  crazy  peddlerman  that  all  the  children 

know! 

52 


THE  CHILDREN'S  PEDDLER  53 

All  the  village  children  shout  and  tag  me  down  the 

street: 
Bobbing  braids  and  freckled  cheeks  and  bare  brown 

dusty  feet. 
"Have  you  got  the  marbles  with  the  twisty  glass 

inside?" 
"Have  you  got  the  gun  that  popped?"    "And  oh, 

the  doll  that  cried?" 

"Have  you  got  a  sailorman  with  wind-mill  arms 

and  oars?" 
"I  must  buy  a  league  ball,  and  a  book  to  keep  the 

scores." 
"Did  you  bring  my  box  of  paints? "    They  pull  my 

coat  and  tease: 
"Show  me  how  to  fly  my  kite!"     "And  run  my 

jig-saw,  please!" 

Eager  eyes  and  laughing  lips  and  dancing  dusty  feet, 
So  they  cry  and  chase  me  down  the  maple-shaded 
street. 


54  THE  CHILDREN'S  PEDDLER 

And  the  grown-up  people  smile  from  window-sill 

and  door, 
"It's  the  children's  peddlerman,  come  to  town  once 


Oh,  the  grown-up  people  smile  and  tap  their  fore 
heads  wise. 

If  they  think  me  simple — well,  I  must  be,  in  their 
eyes! 

But  who'd  peddle  tins  and  tapes  and  soap  and  pious 
books, 

When  there's  heaven  paid  him  out  for  knives  and 
fishing-hooks? 

Uphill,  downhill,  every  sort  of  weather: 
Right  foot,  left  foot,  (and  it's  hard  on  leather) ! 
None  too  much  to  eat  and  drink,  shabby  coat  to 

wear; 
No,  it's  little  wonder  that  the  grown-up  people 

stare! 


THE  CHILDREN'S  PEDDLER  55 

But  above  the  village  roofs  the  church  stands  cool 

and  gray. 
There  the  Dead  Folk  lie  at  ease,  and  dream  the 

years  away. 
There  beneath  a  sweetbriar  bush  are  three  gray 

stones  I  know, 
Worn  alike,  but  one  is  tall,  and  two  are  small  and 

low. 

When  it's  summer  dusk  along  the  lazy  village  street, 
When  the  children  loiter  home  with  tired  eyes  and 

feet, 
And  the  grown-up  people  say,  "You  little  drowsi- 

head, 
Put  your  playthings  straight  away  and  tumble  into 

bed!" 

Then  they  never  see  me  climb  the  steep  white 

crooked  road. 
Underneath  the  apple-tree  I  hide  my  peddler's  load ; 


$6  THE  CHILDREN'S  PEDDLER 

In  the  starry  singing  dusk  I  pass  the  churchyard 

gate, 
And  beside  the  sweetbriar  bush  I  stand  alone  and 

wait. 

Oh,  there's  nothing  there  to  hear,  nothing  there  to 
see: 

Only  stars  and  village  lights  and  tree  that  crowds 
on  tree. 

No  one  answers  when  I  speak;  no  one  takes  my 
hand. 

But  I  think  they  hear  my  voice;  I  think  they  under 
stand. 

Uphill,  downhill,  every  sort  of  weather: 
Right  foot,  left  foot,  (mighty  hard  on  leather) ! 
Dolls  and  bats  and  blocks  and  stamps,  knives  and 

knick-knacks, — oh, 
Just  the  crazy  peddlerman  that  all  the  children 

know! 


EVENING  SONG 

LITTLE  Child,  Good  Child,  go  to  sleep. 
The  tree- toads  purr  and  the  peepers  peep; 
Under  the  apple-tree  grass  grows  deep; 
Little  Child,  Good  Child,  go  to  sleep! 

Big  star  out  in  the  orange  west; 
Orioles  swung  in  their  gypsy  nest; 
Soft  wind  singing  what  you  love  best; 
Rest  till  the  sun-rise;  rest,  Child,  rest! 

Swift  dreams  swarm  in  a  silver  flight.— 
Hand  in  hand  with  the  sleepy  Night 
Lie  down  soft  with  your  eyelids  tight. — 
Hush,  Child,  little  Child!    Hush.— Good-nigh t- 


57 


THE  NEW  HOUSE 

MY  little  House  is  very  young: 

No  shadow  makes  it  grave. 
With  blue-bird-chintz  and  roses  hung 

Its  chamber  windows  wave. 

Here  never  blind-eyed  Grief  has  knocked 

And  entered  groping  in. 
The  doors,  that  seem  so  free^  are  locked 

As  yet  to  Death  and  Sin. 

Here  only  happy  wondering  dreams 

Walk  nightly  to  and  fro. 
They  are  the  friends  of  white  moon-beams, 

And  simple  as  the  snow. 
58 


THE  NEW  HOUSE  59 

My  little  House  is  very  young 

And  very  unaware 
That  dreams  are  wrought  and  songs  are  sung 

In  any  subtler  air. 

Oh  might  I  keep  its  blue-birds  bright, 

Its  hearth  still  warm  and  gay! 
Oh  might  my  House  but  know  delight, 

And  not  be  dark,  some  day! 


TO  YOUTH— IN  SECRET  JOY 

SHUT  out  the  wind,  shut  out  the  gloom, 
Draw  the  gold  curtains  round  the  room: 
The  candle-light  sees  well  that  you 
Are  glad,  as  mortals  may  be.    Through 
Your  heart  a  secret  fragrance  blows, 
Like  a  June  garden,  when  a  rose 
Leans  to  the  wind:  the  light-lipped  morn 
Whispers,  "So  thou!  so  thou — art  born!  " 

Oh,  far  away  the  haunted  past 

With  all  its  lonely  spaces,  vast 

And  hollow  as  an  echoing  hall 

Of  hateful  dreams,  where  you  might  call 

And  run,  but  never  find  the  end, 

Nor  window-slit,  nor  face  of  friend. 

60 


TO  YOUTH— IN  SECRET  JOY  61 

And  far  away  the  future.    Far 

Its  shadow  as  its  saving  star. 

(In  truth,  what  stars  shall  shine?  to  make 

The  sky  still  holy  for  their  sake, 

When  earth  seems  faded,  and  you  know: 

"Soon  I  must  go.    Soon  I  must  go.") 

So  far — that  dusk !    Sit  close, — and  pray. 

You  have  been  very  glad  to-day. 

Glad! — no  one  knows  how  glad.    You  keep 

Your  dear  joy  sacred  as  your  sleep. 

How  could  the  hard  world  understand 

The  warm  light  tremor  of  your  hand, 

The  flying  flush,  the  dancing  eyes, 

And    how    your    whole    heart    laughs   and 

cries? 

— You  would  as  soon  men  saw  you  lie 
White  in  your  star-lit  room,  as  spy 
This  secret.    No,  you  need  not  speak, 
Nor  move  the  hand  that  holds  your  cheek; 


62  TO  YOUTH— IN  SECRET  JOY 

You  need  not  whisper.    Only  pray, 
Because  you  were  so  glad  to-day. 

For  oh,  you  must  remember  this 
Deep  hour  of  hidden  ecstasies, 
Of  fragrance  and  unearthly  light, 
Of  sky-swept  wonder  when  to-night — 
Nay!  but  you  know  so  well  why  you 
Are  glad!  let  only  God  know,  too. 

Only  that  you  remember.    Pray. 
Sometime  your  Life  may  need  this  day! 


FIRE  FANTASY 

FLAME  flies  up  in  the  chimney  black. 
Here  I  lie  and  bid  him  come  back. 

Here  I  lie,  on  the  fox-skin,  white 
As  silver  under  the  leaping  light,— 
White  and  furry  and  kind  and  warm.— 
Out  by  the  window  scurries  the  storm. 

" Flame!  0  crinkly  curly  Flame! 

Where  are  you  going?    What  is  your  name? 

Is  it  a  star  you  are  flying  to? 

Stay  and  tell  me,  O  You!— O  You!" 

But  the  flame  he  never,  never  comes  back. 
I  lie  and  stare  up  the  chimney  black. 
63 


64  FIRE  FANTASY 

Out  in  the  hall  the  great  clock  chimes. 
His  voice  is  solemn  as  holy  rhymes 
That  good  monks  made  in  old  cloister  cells, 
Somehow  charmed  to  sing  in  his  bells, 
Out  in  the  dark,  all  deep  and  low, 
Like  sea-waves  swinging  to  and  fro. 

Here  it  is  very  still  and  warm, 

But  out  on  the  window  batters  the  storm. 

If  I  were  a  ship,  I  would  die  to-night; 

If  I  were  a  bird,  I  would  freeze  in  my  flight; 

If  I  were  a  ghost,  I  would  keep  to  my  grave. 

— But  now,  I  watch  how  the  wide  flames 

wave. 

Now,  I  dream  of  a  thousand  things: 
Summer,  and  sea-foam,  and  queens,  and  kings. 

Flame  flies  up  in  the  chimney  black. 

If  I  were  a  flame,  would  I  ever  come  back? 

If  I  got  to  a  star,  I  would  never  come  back. 


FIRE  FANTASY  65 

But  there  are  no  stars  at  all  to-night. 
Up  in  the  sky  there  is  never  a  light: 
Only  the  souls  of  the  flames,  and  they 
Are  thin  and  nervous,  and  scudding  gray. 
They  blow,  they  blow,  they  shudder  and  blow. 
The  wind  he  hates  them  and  hustles  them  so. 

"WindlO  Wind!— Are  you  mad?"    But  he 
Shrieks  and  is  gone  without  answering  me. 

Flame  flies  up  in  the  chimney  black. 
I  am  too  sleepy  to  call  him  back. 

Now  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed : 

Furry  fox,  my  head  to  your  head; 

Long  warm  fox,  my  back  to  your  back; 

I  stretch,  I  stretch,  till  my  best  bones  crack. 

— I  am  so  still  with  sleep,  and  warm. 

— Out  on  the  window  shivers  the  storm. 

Sleepy  fire,  now  purr  and  fall. 
Great  old  clock  in  the  dusky  hall, 


66  FIRE  FANTASY 

Chime  for  me;  chime  deep,  chime  low, 
Like  sea-waves  swinging  to  and  fro. 

— I  saw  in  my  eyes  a  queer  thing  then. 
There  was  a  woman  with  two  tall  men. 
She  had  a  blue  shawl  over  her  head. 
One  of  them  wore  a  cloak,  blood-red. 
The  other  one  had  a  sword.    And  she 
Was  fair  as  an  old-time  queen  to  see. 
They  had  been  travelling — far — so  far — 
— But  oh,  in  my  eyes  a  falling  star! 
Drowned  in  the  sea. — And  I  saw  a  ship 
With    square    sails    over    the    sea's    edge 

slip,— 
I  wonder — wonder — where. — 

Oh,  then 

I  saw — gaunt  hills,  and  a  black  old  fen — 
A  wind-mill, — water.    — I  saw — I  saw — 
Sun-burnt  boys  and  a  stack  of  straw, 
Yellow,  yellow!  and  swallows  flew — 


FIRE  FANTASY  67 

— Was  her  shawl  yellow,  or  was  it  blue, — 
Over  her  head — ? — 

Oh,  I  am  so  warm. 
Out  on  the  window  tumbles  the  storm. 

I  am  so  sleepy — the  chimney  is  black- 
Flame — flame — are  you  coming  back? — 
Have  you  found  a  star?— are  you  coming  back- 
Coming  back — 
Coming — back ? 


AN  OLD  SONG 

AND  if  I  came  not  again 
After  certain  days; 
If  no  morning  sun  or  rain 
Met  me  on  their  ways; 

If  the  meadows  knew  no  more 
How  my  feet  go  free, 
And  the  folded  hills  forbore 
Any  speech  of  me; 

If  you  did  not  find  me  here, 
At  the  door  at  night, 
And  the  cold  hearth  kept  no  cheer, 
And  the  panes  no  light; —  • 
68 


AN  OLD  SONG  69 

Oh,  if  I  came  not  again, 
Would  you  miss  me  much? 
Would  your  fingers  once  be  fain 
Of  my  wandering  touch? 

Would  you  dream  me  at  your  side 
In  the  waking  wood, 
Where  the  old  spring  hungers  hide 
In  blue  solitude? 

Would  you  wonder  where  I  passed, 
Into  joy  or  pain? 
Oh,  to  know  you  cared,  at  last, 
Came  I  not  again! 


HOME 

HOME,  to  the  hills  and  the  rough,  running  water; 

Home,  to  the  plain  folk  and  cold  winds  again. 
Oh,  I  am  only  a  gray  farm's  still  daughter, 

Spite  of  my  wandering  passion  and  pain! 

Home,  from  the  city  that  snares  and  enthralls  me; 

Home,  from  the  bold  light  and  bold  weary  crowd. 
Oh,  it's  the  blown  snow  and  bare  field  that  calls  me; 

White  star  and  shy  dawn  and  wild  lonely  cloud! 

Home,  to  the  gray  house  the  pine-trees  guard, 
sighing; 

Home,  to  the  low  door  that  laughs  to  my  touch. 
How  should  I  know  till  my  wings  failed  me,  flying, 

Home-nest, — my  heart's  nest, — I  loved  you  so 

much? 

70 


WILD  WEATHER 

THE  sea  was  wild.    The  wind  was  proud. 
He  shook  my  curtains  like  a  shroud. 

He  was  a  wet  and  worthy  wind : 
His  hair  with  wild  sea-crystals  twined : 
His  cloak  with  wild  sea-grasses  green; 
His  slanted  wings  all  gray  and  lean: 
And  strange  and  swift,  and  fierce  and  free 
He  cried,  "Come  out!  and  race  with  me!" 

I  snatched  my  mantle  wide  and  red, 
And  far  along  the  cliffs  I  fled. 

The  cliff-grass  bowed  itself  in  fear, 
The  gulls  forgot  what  path  to  steer; 
Below  the  cliffs  the  broad  waves  broke 
In  trampled  ranks  like  fighting  folk; 
71 


72  WILD  WEATHER 

The  ships  with  grisly  sea- wrack  blind, 
Dead-drunken,  cursed  that  chasing  wind, 

My  lips  with  salt  were  wild  to  taste. 
I  leapt:  I  shouted  and  made  haste: 
Along  the  cliffs,  above  the  sea, 
With  mad  red  mantle  waving  free, 
And  hair  that  whipped  the  eyes  of  me. 

And  there  was  no  one  else  but  he, 
That  great  grim  wind  who  called  to  me. 

Oh,  we  ran  far!    Oh,  we  ran  free! 


DAWN-JOY 

CLEAN,  clean  as  crisped  water-cress 

The  dawn- taste  of  the  wind ! 
I  got  me  out  with  hastiness, 

And  not  a  look  behind. 

The  sleep  fell  off  my  eyes  like  scales, 

And  off  my  feet  like  lead. 
As  thoughtless  Things  with  hooves  and  tails, 

I  leapt,  and  tossed  my  head! 

The  sleep  swept  off  my  heart  like  mist 

That  blurs  a  sun-lit  sea. 
I  felt  the  keen  blood  curl  and  twist 

To  every  tip  of  me. 
73 


74  DAWN-JOY 

I  felt  as  cherry-trees  must  feel 
When  all  their  blossoms  shake; 

Or  like  the  black-bird  routs  that  reel 
Around  a  rushy  lake. 

I  thought,  "And  so  the  Sun  must  thrill, 

Who  strides  upon  his  way, 
And  sees  the  hushed  earth-hollows  fill 

With  living  golden  Day!" 

I  thought,  "And  God  Himself  must  know 

A  Joy  ten  thousandfold 
More  free  and  thirsty,  when  His  low 

Dull  earth  grows  glad  and  bold, 

"And  rocks  and  quivers  in  His  hand, 

As  I  do,  with  the  Spring 
Across  the  wild  green-gilded  land 

Unloosed  and  glorying." 


DAWN-JOY  75 

—Clean,  clean  as  crisped  water-cress, 

The  dawn- taste  of  the  wind. 
My  thoughts  leapt  high  with  heavenliness; 

My  feet  came  close  behind ! 


"NOW  I  WILL  SADDLE  THE  SWIFT  BROWN 
MARE" 


Now  I  will  saddle  the  swift  brown  mare, 
And  ride,  and  ride,  to  the  sunset's  death; 
With  the  wind  like  the  hands  of  a  star  in  my  hair, 
And  the  white  frost  snatching  my  breath ! 

— Shut  the  door  where  the  old  books  stand 
Row  on  row  in  their  musty  cowls: 
Monks,  with  a  scourge  and  a  cross  in  each  hand : 
Apes,  and  asses,  and  snakes,  and  owls! 

— Shut  the  door  where  the  Gossips  sit, 
Hugging  the  hearth,  with  their  brew  of  tea: 
Picking  men's  lives  up,  bit  by  bit, 
Dropping  them  dourly  and  damningly. 
76 


I  WILL  SADDLE  THE  SWIFT  BROWN  MARE  "    77 

— Shut  the  door  where  my  own  Moods  lie 
Faint  and  white  on  a  silver  bed : 
Delicate  damsels,  dreams  that  die, 
Petals  from  pale  white  poppies  shed. 

Oh,  I  will  saddle  the  swift  brown  mare, 

And  ride,  and  ride,  to  the  forge-fire-sky ! 

—Might  I  shoe  her  with  stars  that  hang  white-hot 

there, 
Cooled  in  the  sea-troughs,  hissing  high! 

Might  I  spur  her  with  goads  of  the  ice  that  grows 
Sharp  as  steel  on  the  mountain-lake! 
Might  I  shout  her  the  fierce  gay  song  that  blows 
Out  of  the  west  where  the  sun-ranks  break! 

— Look,  I  am  weary  of  "Thus, — and  So," — 
Mantles  that  mildew  and  swords  that  rust; 
Talk  and  trouble  and  meanness.    Oh, 

Why  should  I  stay  to  be  choked  with  dust? 


78    "  I  WILL  SADDLE  THE  SWIFT  BROWN  MARE  " 

So,  I  will  saddle  the  swift  brown  mare, 
And  ride,  and  ride,  to  the  red  world's  death. 
With  the  wind  like  the  hands  of  a  star  in  my  hair, 
And  the  quick  frost  catching  my  breath! 


TO  THE  NORTH 
I  GIVE  three  calls  to  the  North. 

Come  forth! 
Come  forth! 
Come  forth! 

Out  of  the  black  fir-forests,  where  snow 
Hides  in  the  hollow  places;  where  blow 
Late  spring  winds;  and  the  rivers  run 
Ice-green,  laughing  with  late  spring  sun; 
Out  of  the  sharp  white  nights,  too  still, 
(Star  upon  star,  as  hill  upon  hill) 
Oh,  like  the  fierce-foot  rivers,  set  free, 
Come  and  awaken  and  trouble  me! 

(Name  that  I  cannot  cry, 
Face  that  my  dreams  deny, 

79 


8o  TO  THE  NORTH 

Feet  that  strode  swift, — and  yet 
Should  I  one  hour  forget? 
Shot  from  your  life  to  mine, 
Blazing  and  barbed,  the  Sign?) 

I  give  three  calls  to  the  North. 

Come  forth! 
Come  forth! 
Come  forth! 

Here  in  my  garden  green 

Lilacs  whisper  and  lean. 

Deep  the  grass  at  my  door. 

Shadows  and  songs  fly  o'er. 

Out  in  the  village  street 

Clatter  of  wheels  and  feet; 

Children  laughing,  the  chime 

From  the  church- tower  telling  the  time; 

Hot  May-sweetness,  and  I 

Weeding  my  rose-beds,  cry 


TO  THE  NORTH  8 1 

Over  the  bristling  hills  to  the  North, 
Hear  me!    Come  forth!    Come  forth! 

Can  you  not  run  down  a  mountain-side 
Like  a  rude  green  river's  rock-roughened  tide? 
Fly  over  forests  of  black-peaked  firs 
Like  an  eagle,  proudest  of  voyagers? 
Sweep  like  a  notable  wind  to  me, 
Laughing  and  cold-lipped,  to  set  me  free? 

How  can  I  wait  so  long? 

Till  the  bob-o'-link  slackens  his  song; 

Till  the  roses  have  blossomed  and  blown, 

And  the  little  round  apples  have  grown 

Green  on  my  twisted  tree? 

Can  you  not  set  me  free 

Now,  while  I  cry  to  you? 

Now,  while  the  sweet  nights  through 

I  lie  in  the  dark  and  feel 

Life  like  a  mad  flame  reel 


82  TO  THE  NORTH 

Over  the  floors  of  my  heart? 
Now,  while  the  wild  dreams  start 
Clamoring  out  of  the  night  and  noon, 
Under  the  clear  sun,  under  the  moon, 
Clamoring,  while  I  go 
Soberly  to  and  fro? 

How  can  I  wait?    I  stand 

And  cry  to  you.    Heart  and  hand 

Reaches  to  you.    Give  heed! 

I,  in  my  garden,  bleed 

Small  dark  blood-drops  of  need. 

— Great  bees  blunder  and  croon, — 
Church-bell  chiming  high  noon, — 

O,  like  the  fierce-foot  rivers,  set  free, 
Come !  and  awaken  and  trouble  me ! 
Come!    For  I  need  you  mortally! 


TO  THE  NORTH  83 

I  give  three  calls  to  the  North. 

Come  forth! 
Come  forth! 
Come  forth! 


UP  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN 

UP  on  the  mountain,  where  nobody  comes, 

(But  the  wild  wind  walks,  and  the  wild  bee  hums,) — 

Up  on  the  mountain,  where  nobody  spies, 
But  the  shy  ones,  the  swift  ones,  soft-footed  and 
wise, — 

There  in  the  singing  and  coolness  and  height, 
With  the  thrush-voice  all  day  and  the  brook- voice 
all  night, — 

There  will  I  wander,  and  there  will  I  rest, 
As  a  deer  in  the  fern,  as  a  bird  in  the  nest. 

Far  from  the  faces  that  stare  and  are  blind; 
From  the  cold  hidden  heart,  and  the  cold  crooked 
mind, — 

84 


UP  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN  85 

Up  on  the  mountain  where  nobody  sees, 

I  will  sleep  like  a  leaf  of  the  green  simple  trees. 

I  will  fold  in  my  heart  all  my  wonder,  and  sleep, 
While  the  white  stars  drift,  and  the  white  hours 
creep. 

— And  far  from  the  wind  and  the  stars  and  the  hill 
I  will  wake  in  the  hot  nights  and  smile  and  lie  still, 

As  I  feel  on  my  eye-lids  the  hands  of  the  night, 
Like  an  echo  of  leaf-song,  a  star's  straying  light. 

Oh,  under  the  labor  and  blindness  and  heat 
Shall  be  music  to  lure  me  and  lighten  my  feet, — 

Beating, 

"Up  on  the  mountain,  where  nobody  comes, — 

But  the  wild  wind  walks,  and  the  wild  bee  hums, — 

And  the  wild  bee  hums — " 


"THE  STARS  GO  BY" 

UNDER  the  Lake  he  growls  and  he  groans, 
Tossing  and  twisting  his  frosty  bones: 
Grim  old  Giant! — but  never  we 
Will  chop  the  ice  out  and  set  you  free; 
Never  we,  while  the  moon  rides  high, 
And  the  stars  go  by,  and  the  stars  go  by, 
As  over  the  gray-glass  Lake  we  fly ! 

Nearer,  nearer,  the  black  shores  swing. 
Laugh  and  lean  while  the  steel  blades  sing: 
Laugh,  and  slip  into  silence. — See! 
The  world  is  aching  with  splendor!    Free, — 
Free  of  our  bodies  our  light  souls  fly 
Up,  where  the  cold  moon  freezes  the  sky, — 
Up,  where  the  strange  stars  crowd  into  Space. 
Oh,  have  they  stared  into  God's  own  Face? 

86 


"THE  STARS  GO  BY"  87 

Folding  their  flames  in  the  Flame  of  God, 
Over  His  terrible  threshold  trod? 

Oh,  we  are  thirsty  of  light, — of  light, — 
Space, — and  silence — and  God — to-night. 
How  can  we  hide  them  forever,  deep 
In  our  hearts  from  the  dun  days'  struggle  and 

sleep? 

Hide  them,  and  know  till  we  die,  that  we 
Are  free  of  the  flames  of  Eternity, — 

Freer  than  falling  stars  are  free? 

• 

Ah,  but  our  bodies  grow  stiff  and  cold: 
Stars  are  shifting:  the  night  is  old. 
We  must  come  back  out  of  Space,  and  see 
How  far  it  is  to  Eternity! 

So,  from  the  shadowy  pine-tree-shore, 
Back  to  our  bodies!  swing  free  once  more! 
Chase  the  blurred  moon  whisking  away 
Down  at  our  feet  in  the  mirror  gray: 


88  "THE  STARS  GO  BY" 

Laugh,  and  lean  to  the  steel  blades'  song, 
Flying  along, — oh,  flying  along! 

But — there's  a  star  shoots  over  the  hill. 
Hush.    For  our  souls  are  too  thirsty  still, 
Thirsty,  trembling  with  utter  light. 
Hush.    We  are  going. 

O  Worlds,  good-night! 


STORM  DANCE 

THE  water  came  up  with  a  roar, 

The  water  came  up  to  me. 
There  was  a  wave  with  tusks  of  a  boar, 

And  he  gnashed  with  his  tusks  on  me. 
I  leaned,  I  leapt,  and  was  free. 

He  snarled  and  struggled  and  fled. 
Foaming  and  blind  he  turned  to  the  sea, 

And  his  brothers  trampled  him  dead. 

The  water  came  up  with  a  shriek. 

The  water  came  up  to  me. 
There  was  a  wave  with  a  woman's  cheek 

And  she  shuddered  and  clung  to  me. 
I  crouched,  I  cast  her  away. 

She  cursed  me  and  swooned  and  died. 
Her  green  hair  tangled  like  sea-weed  lay 

Tossed  out  on  the  tearing  tide. 
89 


9o  STORM  DANCE 

Challenge  and  chase  me,  Storm! 

Harry  and  hate  me,  Wave ! 
Wild  as  the  wind  is  my  heart,  but  warm, 

Sudden  and  merry  and  brave. 
For  the  water  comes  up  with  a  shout, 

The  water  comes  up  to  me. 
And  oh,  but  I  laugh,  laugh  out! 

And  the  great  gulls  laugh,  and  the  sea! 


THE  BLACK  WITCH 

YE  have  driven  me  out  from  your  court  and  your 

kirk, 

From  your  market-square  and  your  mill; 
Ye  have  branded  my  name,  ye  have  wasted  my 

work, 
Ye  have  done  me  a  deadly  ill. 

Ye  have  chased  me  to  crags  where  the  eagles  cry, 
And  the  sharp  sun  swallows  the  dew. 

A  Witch  and  a  Devil's  Wife  am  I? 
Then  why  should  I  come  to  you? 

The  Black  Plague  walks  in  your  shuddering  street; 

Your  dead  like  herring  lie  thick. 
With  mantles  over  your  mouths  ye  meet. 

Ye  take  the  dead  for  the  quick. 
91 


92  THE  BLACK  WITCH 

God's  Faith!  My  witchcraft  could  help  you  now: 

My  devils  could  daunt  your  death! 
But  I  will  stand  under  my  rowan-bough 

However  ye  waste  your  breath. 

I  will  not  come  down,  I  will  not  come  down, 

Nor  weave  you  one  wizardry, 
Though  all  the  roofs  o'  the  little  red  town 

Go  tumbling  into  the  sea. 

Though  all  the  cracks  o'  the  craggy  Rock 

Gape  wide  as  the  mouths  o'  Doom, 
I  will  stand  at  the  crest  and  make  you  a  mock 

Till  ye  long  for  the  grave's  gray  gloom. 

Black   Plague!  Black   Plague!   push   open   their 
doors ! 

Lie  down  in  their  beds  this  day! 
Heavy  and  hard  are  my  ancient  scores. 

Black  Plague!  but  we  make  them  pay! 


THE  BLACK  WITCH  93 

Oh,  up  and  up  in  the  face  of  the  sun 

My  voice  like  a  flame  shall  flee, 
With  Curse  on  you,  Curse  on  you,  every  one, 

Who  wrought  such  a  curse  on  me! 


RIDE 

LEAN  in  the  saddle  and  look  aside. 
Ride! 

Turn  the  flame  of  your  face  away. 
It  is  white  as  a  tree  in  May. 
It  is  bright  as  a  star  at  sea. 
It  is  terribly  dear  to  me. 

Lean  in  the  saddle  and  look  aside. 
Ride! 

Black-maned  Balor  is  proud  of  you, 
Racing  down  in  the  dawn-red  dew; 
Racing  down  with  the  dust  behind, 
(Crackling  lash  of  the  sun  and  wind,) 

94 


RIDE  95 

Black-maned  Balor  will  never  see 

Here  in  the  bushes  the  eyes  of  me, 

Staring  out  like  a  fox  in  lair, 

Hungering  out  through  my  clotted  hair, 

Pulling  you  from  the  saddle,  down, 

Down  through  the  fern  and  the  bracken 

brown, 

Down,  to  the  hollow  where  I  lie, 
Trembling  to  feel  your  face  flash  by. 

Ah,  but  you  must  not  see — not  see! 
You  must  never  look  once  at  me. 

Days  gone  by,  and  I  rode  with  you 
Over  the  dust  and  under  the  dew: 
Light  and  perilous,  rash  to  ride, 
Laughing,  high  as  a  hawk  with  pride. 

Now  I  kneel  in  the  brake  and  hide. 
(Ride.) 


96  RIDE 

Oh,  if  I  might  stand  clear  and  cry, 
"Look!    Itislagain!    It  is  I!" 
Swing  you  down  from  the  saddle, — No! 
Turn  the  flame  of  your  face  and  go! 
Watch  the  white  clouds  up  in  the  wind; 
Laugh  for  the  keen  miles  cast  behind. 
Look  not  down  at  the  burnt  road-side. 

Dogs  that  have  bitten  must  slink  and  hide. 
— God !  that  I  loved  you  and  hurt  you !   — See, 
I  will  not  ask  for  one  look  at  me. 
Safe  as  a  star  in  the  sky- ways  wide 
Ride! 

Galloping  hoofs  on  my  heart,  my  pride. 
Love  of  me,  Love  of  me,  lean  aside! 
RIDE! 


ROMANCE 

COME  over  the  waters  and  find  me! 

The  weeds  by  the  wet  shore  bind  me. 
The  water-snakes  float 
Round  my  slime-dragged  boat, 

And  the  clouds  of  the  sun-dust  blind  me. 

Come  over  the  waters  and  hold  me! 
Hot  fingers  of  Horror  enfold  me. 

My  white  swan  lies  dead 

In  his  nest  blood-red, 
But  the  marsh-geese  chase  me  and  scold  me, 

Come  over  the  waters  and  woo  me! 
The  rude  Marsh-People  pursue  me. 

From  tussock  and  brake 

They  leer  and  they  shake 
Their  hairy  hands  holden  unto  me. 

97 


98  ROMANCE 

Come  over!    Come  over!    Come  over! 

0  Beautiful  Sunrise  Lover! 
Come  over  the  hill  of  the  waters! 

— I  am  one  of  a  great  King's  daughters: 

1  am  fair,  I  am  sweet, 
From  my  head  to  my  feet; 
I  am  young  as  the  day; 
Yet  my  heart  grows  gray 

Ere  the  terrible  charm  be  broken: 
Ere  the  dawn- word  swiftly  be  spoken: 

And  my  boat  swing  free 

To  the  clear  blue  sea, 
And  the  sin  of  my  race  be  wroken! 

Come  over!    I  cry  unto  thee. 

I  cover  my  face  and  sue  thee. 

The  Marsh  Men  seize  and  enslave  me! 

Come  over  the  waters  and  save  me! 


O  MY  LOVE  LEONORE 

0  MY  Love  Leonore!    0  my  lithe  Lady! 

Is  it  the  Grave  you  are  gracing  to-night? 

Is  your  breast  cold  now  and  covered  with  white? 

Are  you  grown  stiff,  who  were  lissome  and  light? — 

Are  they  the  plain  coffin-planks  that  you  see, 
Narrow  for  feet  that  were  flying  and  free, 
Rude  for  white  hands  that  wove  spells  over  me? — 
O  my  Love  Leonore,— O  my  lithe  Lady?— 

Is  your  cheek  cool  of  the  flush  that  I  fanned? 

Must  you  not  dance  now,  nor  once  wave  your  hand? 

Can  you  not  laugh,  through  the  small  stones  and 

sand,— 
O  my  Love  Leonore!    O  my  lithe  Lady? — 

99 


100  O  MY  LOVE  LEONORE 

— It  is  the  Grave  I  am  gracing  to-night. 

I  am  clay-cold  now,  and  stiff-limbed,  and  white. 

A  great  Lord,  DEATH,  hath  me  in  this  plight. 

0  my  Love  Leonore,  0  my  lithe  Lady, 
If  he,  the  great  Lord,  lays  hands  on  your  hand, 
He  will  not  help  you  to  dance  or  to  stand; 
Nor  from  your  eyes  brush  the  small  stones  and 
sand. 

Therefore  farewell.    Whom  he  wooeth  is  won. 
Therefore  farewell.    I  am  jealous  of  none. 
Are  not  both  dancing  and  dying  soon  done? 
O  my  Love  Leonore, — 0  my  lithe  Lady? — 


THE  CHANGELING 

I  HAVE  two  horns  upon  my  head. 

They  please  me,  being  garlanded 

With  creepy  pine,  and  berries  red 

From  some  old  secret  hawthorn-tree. 

I  have  two  horns,  and  hoofs  also : 
Brown  questing  hoofs,  that  clip  and  go 
Over  the  mountain,  high  and  low, 
From  sky-crack  to  the  droning  sea. 

My  Mother  would  have  shame  of  me 
If  she  could  see — if  she  could  see 
Those  horns  and  hoofs  that  make  too  free 
With  what  she  bore  and  bred  so  straight. 

101 


102  THE  CHANGELING 

She  taught  me  to  be  still  and  good; 
To  walk  demure  as  maidens  should; 
Wear  dainty  slippers,  silken  snood, 
And  not  come  loitering  home  too  late. 

But  now  I  dance,  I  dance  all  night, 
By  faint  star-light  or  fierce  moon-light, 
Over  the  mountain, — till  the  white 
Dumb  dawn  comes  fingering,  soothing  me. 

With  whom  I  dance,  with  whom  I  sing, — 
Why  need  my  Mother  know  this  thing? 
In  my  green  chamber  slumbering 
She  finds  me  sweet  and  white,  when  she 

Strokes  down  my  curls.    She  does  not  know 
Two  horns  beneath  her  fingers  grow; 
Rough  horns:  and  I  have  hoofs  also, 
Not  feet  like  pale  flow'rs  on  the  floor. 


THE  CHANGELING  103 

Oh,  if  you  met  me  on  the  hill, 
Moon-maddened,  dancing  to  my  fill, 
O  Mother,  could  you  love  me  still, — 
This  wild-heart  thing  you  never  bore? 


HOOFS  IN  THE  DARK 

I  WAKE  in  the  night,  and  my  heart  says,  "Hark!" 
I  lie  like  a  corpse  in  my  cool  white  place. 
For  hoofs  go  by  in  the  dark,  in  the  dark. 
I  turn  on  my  pillow  and  bury  my  face. 

The  night  is  a  tomb  that  smothers  and  sounds. 
The  night  is  a  cavern  uncressetted. 
The  blood  in  my  ears  like  a  mallet  pounds. 
My  heart  goes  wild  and  my  eyes  see  red: 

Red  and  purple  with  prickling  light, 

Terrible  broken  light  like  glass. 

For  your  hoofs  go  by  in  the  breathing  night, 

And  I  dare  not  call  you  nor  see  you  pass. 

104 


HOOFS  IN  THE  DARK  105 

Loud  on  the  bridge  and  up  the  hill, 

Low  and  dull  on  the  turfy  lawn: 

You  ride  with  the  wind,  at  the  dark  wind's  will, 

With  the  alien  stars,  an  hour  ere  dawn. 


When  I  am  dead,  and  the  tapers  burn, 
As  stiff  and  pale  in  my  place  I  lie, 
What  shall  I  do  if  I  cannot  turn 
And  bury  my  face  when  the  hoofs  go  by? 

What  if  my  body  rose  in  its  shroud, 
And  leaned  like  a  mist  the  casement  through, 
Being  no  longer  mortal  and  proud, — 
Questing  you,  calling  you,  claiming  you? 

Would  you  draw  rein?    Would  you  see  my  face 
Wan  with  wonder  and  love  and  death 
Shine  out  once  from  the  window-space,— 
Shine,  then  fade  with  the  frost's  white  breath? 


io6  HOOFS  IN  THE  DARK 

Would  you  draw  rein?    Who  knows?    The  tide 
Of  my  blood  runs  high,  and  my  heart  says  "  Hark !  " 
I  have  long  to  live,  while  you  ride — you  ride — 
Out  in  the  dark;  out  there  in  the  dark.— 


"WHAT  I   DESIRE  TO  SAY " 

WHAT  I  desire  to  say  will  not  be  caught  in  words. 

—I  have  been  on  the  hills  to-day,  hearing  strange 
leaves  and  birds. 

I  have  been  on  the  city  street,  hearing  the  pave 
ments  groan. 

Now  I  am  come  again,  glad  of  your  face  alone. 

Here  in  the  quiet  house,  where  the  soft  night 
walks  through 

Window  and  open  door,  whispering  to  me  and 
you,— 

Here,  where  no  stranger  sounds  than  the  far  bell- 
chimes  come,— 

Here,  being  most  at  peace,  yet  am  I  far  from 

home. — 

107 


io8  "WHAT  I  DESIRE  TO  SAY" 

Even  as  if  the  stars  started   and   strained  in 

space, — 

Even  as  if  the  winds  shook  Heaven's  audience-place, 
Pressing  the  sapphire  walls,  out,  till  they  cracked 

and  rent, — 
So  in  my  side  my  heart  strains  through  our  still 

content. 

— You,  that  of  all  the  world  know  the  wild  ways 

I  go,— 
(You,  flying  farther  yet,  sweeping  more  high,  more 

low,) 

Even  to  you,  to-night,  I  must  be  dumb  as  death. 
What  I  desire  to  say  dies  ere  I  give  it  breath. 


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